Destination Somewhere
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Calls for the boys to come home for the holidays result in an agreement to take a week's vacation. Unfortunately, 'tis the season for travel mishaps...
1. The Best-Laid Plans

_Notes: The characters aren't mine, and the story is! I'm taking a slight break from my usual angst-fests to bring a feel-good, friendshippy fic fit for December. I'll still be updating my other fics this month, just not as frequently._

* * *

The Monkees' beachside Pad always had problems with things scattered all over the place and messes everywhere. But, today, the interior looked as though a tornado had spun through the place, drawing up everything that had been in the boys' closets and spewing them out everywhere—in their rooms, on the landing, on the spiral staircase, and all over the living room.

None of the occupants flickered an eyelid, however; this was how they normally packed their bags and suitcases when they were embarking on a long journey. It was the easiest way; the boys lived by the credo of "what's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine," so this was, believe it or not, the most efficient way of ensuring that the right possessions went to the right Monkee's suitcase. It also led to some last minute swapping, as well.

"Hey, Peter? Have you seen my striped shirt?" Micky asked from the landing, as his search for the item turned out to be fruitless. "I remember lending it to you…"

"Uhh… Yeah; I saw it about a week ago!" the blond called from downstairs. "Right when I lent it to Davy!"

"And I last saw it a few days ago—when I gave it back to you, Micky!" Davy called.

"Oh, yeah…" Micky said, recalling it. "I threw it into the laundry pile—"

"Aaaaaagh!"

All three heads turned to Mike and Micky's room as the Texan let out a loud yell of disgust.

"Mike, are you okay!?" Davy exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm just fine. Micky!"

The brunet flinched at Mike's accusatory tone.

"Yeah?"

"_Why_ is there a half-eaten sandwich on my denim jacket—on the floor of the closet!?" the Texan demanded.

"Oh, _that's_ where it went!" Micky exclaimed. "I was looking for that jacket some time ago, and I lost half of my sandwich while I was looking! Wouldn't you know they ended up in the same place…?"

"Exactly how long ago was this!?" Mike asked.

Micky stuck his head in through the open doorway.

"Well, offhand, judging by how much mold is on it, I'd say about… three weeks?"

There was a dangerous silence as Micky put on a guilty grin.

"I'm giving you a chance to say something," Mike said, calmly. "And it had better be good."

"Oh, um… Can I borrow your jacket?"

Davy and Peter both facepalmed.

"Micky—!"

"I'll have it washed when I get to Florida tomorrow—I swear!" Micky said. "It's just that I might be meeting some chicks down in Florida; you never know. And there's just something about this jacket that makes for a very good first impression. I mean, you've got great taste to have a jacket like this!"

"Mick, this jacket has a lot of things, but with sandwich mold all over it, 'great taste' ain't one of them."

"I told you, I'll have it washed! The hotel I'll be staying at is sure to have some sort of laundromat!"

"Well, it had better be in perfect condition when I see you again in a week."

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Micky said, saluting. "It will be done, Sir!"

Peter grinned, and then he sighed as he resumed packing.

"A whole week without you guys…" he said, shaking his head. "Do you realize that this is the first Christmas since meeting each other and forming our group that we're not going to be together for a holiday?"

"I know, Peter," Davy said. "But you can't blame our families for wanting us to spend time around the holidays. I know Grandfather has been saying how much he misses me at our yearly celebration."

"Yeah, that's true…" Peter admitted. "I know Mike said that Aunt Kate has been begging him to come to her ranch for Christmas every year since he left."

"I can vouch for that; I was here every time he got a call from her for the last four years," Davy said. "And, anyway, it _is_ only for a week; we have to be back here for that New Year's Eve gig."

"Yeah. And then there's the surprise party for you and Mike—oh, I shouldn't have said that…" the blond said, facepalming again.

"I think Mike and I could've deduced that you and Micky were planning that without any help," the English boy grinned. "But you've proven my point; we've got plenty to look forward to. This week will go by before you know it." He sighed. "Though, I have to admit… I am a little jealous that Micky is going to be vacationing in Florida."

"Maybe someday, we'll all go to Florida," Peter mused. "And we can have a gig there and charm everyone with our musical talents…"

"Why just Florida?" Davy said. "Why not the entire United States?"

"Aw, heck—why not the entire world!?" Micky called, as he headed down the staircase to join them. "Someday, they'll love us!"

"Providing we don't leave a trail of moldy sandwiches in our wake…" Mike deadpanned, lugging his suitcase down the staircase.

"You're not going to let me forget this, are you?"

"Nope."

"Come on, Man! It could've happened to anyone!"

"Oh, sure…" Peter said, grinning despite himself. "Just like the time you tried to use that chemistry set I gave you two years ago—and we somehow ended with homemade silly putty over the walls…"

"I just put in a bit too much of a few ingredients—just like the time Mike put too many peppers in his salsa recipe."

Mike gave Micky a look.

"I didn't put too many peppers in there," he insisted. "It's _supposed_ to be that hot. I can't help it if I've got three bandmates who can't take the heat."

Davy laughed aloud at this.

"Excuse me? I seem to remember the time when we actually had a stove in here, and you tried to make chili. You threw in a whole bunch of those habanero peppers, and you had your head out the window just like I did, gasping for fresh air! …Of course, I'll admit that probably wasn't half as bad as that time Micky tried to make coffee…"

"Hey!" the brunet exclaimed. "That was when we were half-scared out of our wits because of the late-night monster movie marathon! It's not like we were going to be getting any sleep that night; making the coffee a little bit stronger than normal seemed like the logical thing to do!"

"A little bit stronger?" Mike repeated. "Micky, I swear I saw my coffee rear up, jump out of the mug, and do chin-ups while quoting Shakespeare!"

"And our nerves were too far gone," Peter added, recalling that night. "When Mr. Babbitt knocked on the door to ask for the rent, we nearly crashed through the walls trying to get away from him!"

"I think that may have been because we'd just seen Dracula breaking through his coffin on top of that coffee we had drunk," Davy recalled. "But Peter makes a good point. I distinctly remember nearly jumping high enough to qualify for the Olympics."

There was an awkward silence as the four bandmates exchanged glances, smiles appearing on all of their faces.

"Man, I'm going to miss you guys so much," Micky said, shaking his head.

"Well, I've got faith that y'all can hang on for just one measly little week apart," the Texan said. "Chances are, we'll be so busy with family stuff, we won't even have the time to notice." He placed his suitcase by the door. "Well, I'm all packed, anyway. "Y'all better finish up. I'd like to get a quick dinner in before we all have to part ways."

"I'm for that!" Davy said. "What've we got?"

Peter took a look in the fridge.

"Some wilted salad, some celery, another one of Micky's sandwiches—no mold on this one, though," he added, unable to resist. "Oh, wait, there's some of the doggy bags from when we went to Pop's restaurant yesterday."

"Leftovers. Perfect—it'll help us practice for all the leftovers we'll be getting on the 26th," Mike said. "Get out the hot plate and start heating it up. I'll help the rest of you finish up with the packing."

And despite the chaos that seemed to always follow the quartet, they managed to finish packing their suitcases. A minor crisis was averted after Davy panicked, thinking he had misplaced his passport, but it was Micky who had found it in the closet that Davy and Peter shared—for he had seen it the day he had given Peter his striped shirt, which the blond had put away in the closet.

But, eventually, four suitcases were neatly lined up near the door, each adorned with a ticket provided by his family—three for three different planes and the last one—Mike's—for a train to New Gallifrey, Texas.

"They said it couldn't be done," Micky said, striking a dramatic pose as he looked upon the luggage—and the now-spotless floor. "But we showed them all, didn't we? We successfully packed our bags in record time!"

"And it only took us the whole day…" Davy mused.

"Like I said, we did it in record time," the brunet grinned. "Or have you forgotten how, for the last out-of-town gig we had, it took us three whole days before we were finally packed and ready to go?"

"We can discuss it over dinner," the Texan said, as Peter pulled the leftovers off of the hot plate and transferred them to the table. "I, for one, am starving." He grabbed a celery stick from the fridge and added it to his plate.

One by one, they sat down at the little table—the table that served as both their dining table and their band meeting spot. The lively discussion that followed was one of high spirits—though they wished that they could spend the holiday week with each other, it was some comfort to know that they would still be able to share it with people they cared about.

They could not have known about Lady Fate's plans for them…


	2. Take the Last Plane to Hartford

It was after dinner that the four friends bid goodbye to their Pad and crowded into the Monkeemobile. Mike was the first to part ways with his companions, dropping them off at the airport so that he could head off to the train station.

"You three take care, you hear?" he said, a wan smile on his face. "I don't want to hear of any crazy things happening."

"Please, Mike," Davy said, with a mock insulted look. "Four years ago, I made it all the way over here from England without any incidents. I think I can manage."

"And Micky and I have been out on our own for a while, too; we know how to take care of ourselves!"

Mike just shrugged.

"Well, I've got to say it, being the one in charge and all—gotta look out for you guys."

"Well, you've done a great job," Davy said. "Look how I ended up!"

Mike gave him a lopsided smile.

"You turned out just fine. Hope your gramps agrees when he sees you."

"I'm sure he will," Davy said.

"Hey, man, you'd better split; you don't want to miss your train!" Micky said, checking his watch.

"Plus, that car's been waiting behind you for a few minutes now," Peter pointed out, looking at the grumpy driver.

Mike gulped, and with a hurried goodbye and a wave, the GTO pulled away and out of sight.

"And then there were three," Micky said, softly.

"Don't say that," Peter chided him. "Remember what Mike said? We'll be back before you know it. After all, we've got so much planned for Mike and Davy's party, especially if we're going to—"

Micky cleared his throat, silently indicating the amused Davy standing right next to them.

"Oh. Right. Um, forget I mentioned that."

"It's alright," Davy assured him. "I'm going to have to take my leave of you now; the international terminal is over that way…" He gave a wan smile. "I'm jealous of you and Mike, Micky. You two will be where it's warm and sunny, and I'll be over in England, where it'll be cold and raining…"

"Hey, what about me, up in the Northeast?" Peter asked. "I'll be snowbound up there! I should've bought the snowshoes!"

Micky and Davy gave him a long look.

"What are you doing with snowshoes in Los Angeles?" Micky asked.

"I bought them when I bought those skis for Mike two years ago. I couldn't resist; everything was so cheap!"

Micky opened his mouth to say something further, but decided against it and patted Peter on the shoulder.

"And on that note, I must depart," Davy said, grinning. "Thanks for the laugh; I expect I'll be spending the majority of the flight trying to use my sixth sense into figuring out exactly what you two are planning for the party."

"Oh, you'll never guess in a million years what we're planning!" Peter exclaimed. "It's going to be a—"

Micky clapped a hand over Peter's mouth.

"See you around, Davy!" he said, giving Peter a look. "We'll be waiting for you!"

"And Mike," Peter added in a muffled voice, nodding in agreement.

Davy smiled at them and nodded, as well, dragging his luggage along behind him as he looked back, waving.

"And now there were two," Micky added.

He and Peter now headed towards the ticket counter, aiming on getting their luggage checked in.

"Are you feeling the déjà vu as much as I am?" Micky asked. "Back when it was just you and me…"

"I sure am," Peter said. "Soon we'll be even more back in time. Weird, when you think about it—we all started out with our families before making our own way and finding each other. And now… here we are, getting ready to go back."

Micky pondered over this for a few minutes.

"Yeah, I guess, in a way, it's like we are going back."

"Do you ever wonder what it would've been like if we'd never left?" Peter went on. "Where would be we be right now if we hadn't met? What would we be doing with our lives? Who would we have become?"

"Man, it's a bit too… weird for deep questions like that now," Micky declared, shaking his head. "I mean… Meeting you and then Mike and Davy… That was the best thing that had ever happened to me; I can't imagine it being any other way!"

"Guess you're right; I shouldn't have brought it up," Peter said. "For what it's worth, though… I'm glad I know you guys, too."

Now it was Micky's turn to give a lopsided smile as the man at the ticket counter handed him his gate information. The man then glanced at Peter and sighed.

"You're on flight 2345 to Hartford?"

"That's right!" the blond grinned, but his smiled faded as the man behind the counter sighed.

"I'm afraid your flight has been delayed two hours," he said. "There's a blizzard over the Midwest right now; most flights have been diverted around it, but the resulting air traffic is causing problems."

"So, what happens now?" Peter asked, staring wide-eyed as Micky gave him a sympathetic look.

"Well, we'll let you know when the plane comes in," the man said. "All you can do is wait—and hope that the blizzard doesn't get any worse. If it does, we'll have to resort to canceling the flight."

Peter's face fell.

"Wait," Micky said. "If his flight is going to be canceled, can't you just get him an alternate ticket?"

"Next flight to Hartford isn't until tomorrow," Peter said, glumly.

"Snow's supposed to get worse—traveling into the Northeast," the ticket man informed him. "Most flights coming out of there will be cancelled, too."

Micky snapped his fingers.

"Then you can reschedule his ticket to my flight to Orlando; he can come along with me!"

"You mean that?" Peter asked.

"Sure!" Micky grinned. "You're sure to get a flight from Orlando to Hartford tomorrow, and it'll only be snowing at the tail end!"

"It's not a sure thing," the ticket man said. "If there's too much snow up there, it won't matter how good the weather is in Florida."

"Gosh, Mick, I don't know…" Peter said. "What happens if I get stuck in Orlando, with no way to get to Hartford?"

"Then you'll be with me," Micky reminded him. "That's not so bad, right?"

"Ordinarily, no," Peter admitted. "But your family is planning something special; I'd hate to impose—"

"Aww, heck!" Micky said. "You might as well be part of the family; you'd do the same if the situation was reversed, right?"

"Well, sure!"

"Then, it's settled!" Micky said. "Change that ticket!"

The man hesitated.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do," he said. "But the flight to Hartford tonight _is_ only just delayed. You may be lucky and grab the last flight there."

"Well, I do want to see my family after this long." Peter admitted. "I mean, they _have_ been begging me to come back and have been planning this for a long time…" He looked to Micky. "Hey, thanks for the offer, Mick, but I'm going to take my chances with the delayed flight."

"Are you sure?" the brunet asked.

Peter nodded.

"But I'll tell you what," the blond promised. "If the flight gets canceled tonight and tomorrow, I'll get the next flight to Orlando instead. What's the hotel and room number you'll be staying at?"

Micky went through the booking information that he had been forwarded and provided Peter with the details.

"You know I'd love for you to spend the week with me in Orlando," he added. "But I know how much it means to you to be back home, so… Well… I hope things work out for you, okay?"

"Thanks, Mick," Peter said, with a smile. "Hey, you'd better get going; you don't want to miss your flight."

"Yeah, no kidding!" the brunet said, looking over his flight details. "It says I've gotta catch that connecting flight in Oklahoma City to Orlando. Hey, are they running on time over there?"

"As far as I know, yes," the ticket man said. "Your flight from here is on time, too, so I'd suggest you make a beeline for your gate."

"Right. I'm… I'm going. I'm gone. Bye, Pete! Hope you make it!" Micky called over his shoulder as he waved goodbye.

Peter waved back with a slightly forlorn expression that increased in intensity after Micky was out of sight.

"Well, I… guess I'd better head to my gate and… wait," he said, to no one in particular, though the ticket man nodded in sympathy.

The blond dragged his luggage behind him as he slowly headed in that general direction, hoping that things would work out for him. The thought of staying alone in Malibu over Christmas was unbearable; he was very grateful to Micky for the open invite in case the Hartford plans fell through. But, regardless of whatever destination lay ahead in his future, the next two hours were promising to be a long—and lonely—wait.


	3. And I'll Meet You at the Airport

Mike soon found himself lost in his thoughts as he pulled into the parking garage and took his bags to the train station.

"Sleeper cars…" he mused, as he boarded the train and reclined on his assigned berth. "Gotta love 'em."

There was a lot of activity going on around the train, so the Texan drew the curtain around the berth closed to close himself off into his own little world. It was… odd, being alone again. He remembered that first lonely trip he had taken from Texas to California when he had left home… how, during a nighttime stopover in the middle of the Arizona desert, he had taken a few minutes to recline upon the hood of the Pontiac and stargaze for a few minutes… the meteor he had seen… lapsing into childishness just for a moment to make a wish that there was something worth finding once he arrived in Malibu…

And oh, he had certainly found something well worth the trip—finding Davy, and then Micky and Peter, would have been worth circumnavigating the world more than once, and then some.

And, truth to be told, he probably would've preferred staying in Malibu with his friends, just like they had been doing. Of course, he couldn't ask them to turn down the requests from their families. Of course, Mike knew he wouldn't mind spending a week on the ranch, just like the old days.

He chuckled to himself. He certainly hoped that Aunt Kate wouldn't mind a slightly higher phone bill this time around; all four of them were sure to rack up some impressive bills trying to stay in touch with each other throughout the rest of the week—especially Davy, who wouldn't give so much as a thought to overseas rates.

The Texan was just starting to doze off in his berth when the lights from the train splayed onto his face as someone drew the curtain back.

"Hey, knock it off," he grumbled, turning his face away from the light.

"Find your own berth to snooze in, and then maybe people won't bother you," an annoyed voice snarled at him.

"This _is_ my berth!" Mike retorted over his shoulder. He pulled his ticket from his pocket. "Look—C17."

"_I've_ got C17!"

Mike blinked, glancing from his ticket to the man's. Both numbers were the same.

"Well, that's awkward…" he said. "Eh, whatever. I was here first, so why don't you just mosey on to the next berth you can find—?"

"There are no other berths; this train is packed!" the man said. "I demand that you clear out and give me my berth!"

"Now wait a minute!" Mike said. "I paid for this here berth!"

"So did I!"

Their argument was rapidly increasing in intensity—and volume. People in the neighboring berths were sticking their heads out to listen, and, eventually, the conductor made his way to the two.

"What seems to be the trouble?"

Mike and the other man immediately began talking over each other in an attempt to explain their part of the story. It was nearly impossible to follow, but the conductor was a smart person, and he was able to put two and two together.

"Okay, I get it," he said. "We overbooked the train. It's not that big a deal; all you need to do is have one of you go talk to the station master and we can get you on the next train."

"Well, you send this little whelp to the station master—this is my berth!"

Mike gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain calm as the stymied conductor scratched his head.

"Well," the conductor said, at last. "How about I flip a coin—?"

"How about you give me my berth before I sue?!" the man snapped. "Don't think I won't take you to court for this horrendous treatment!"

Mike groaned.

"Oh, alright!" he said, hopping down from the berth. "I'll go see the station master and take the next train. Some of us have better things to do than make a case out of it!"

He grabbed his luggage from the rack, ignoring the man's rants that he now had to deal with a berth that had been slept in as the conductor massaged the bridge of his nose in utter frustration.

Mike sighed to himself as he got off the train.

"And a Merry Christmas to y'all," he muttered, hoping that his companions were having a better time of it.

* * *

Trouble seemed to have avoided Davy as his time in the international terminal went smoothly. He was already burrowed into his seat, sound asleep as his flight reached cruising altitude, looking forward to waking up in his homeland.

But the unspoken curse that followed a Monkee was the inability to escape from trouble. And Davy found this all too well when he found himself awakened by one of the flight attendants asking him to put his seatbelt back on to prepare for landing.

"Are we there already?" Davy asked, surprised as he looked out the window and saw that it was still quite dark out.

"I'm afraid not; we have an unscheduled landing due to the snow in the Midwest. We've been instructed to land in Oklahoma City; sorry for the inconvenience."

"What!?" the boy exclaimed, his heart sinking. "You don't understand; I have to get to England—!"

"So does everyone on this flight," the flight attendant said. "There's nothing we can do, I'm afraid. Now can you please keep your seatbelt on?"

Davy mumbled something unintelligible, shellshocked as he gathered his luggage and started aimlessly wandering the airport. Somewhere in the back of his sleep-deprived mind, he registered that he probably should talk to the ticket counter about some other way to get to England.

Davy was so out of it, he gave a tired, wan wave to a familiar face debarking from a flight arriving from Los Angeles; he hadn't even taken the time to register exactly who he had seen.

"Hi, Micky."

"Hey, Davy. …_Davy_!?"

The English boy now stopped in his tracks as the rest of his brain caught up with his occipital lobe.

"Micky!"

A grin split across his face as he turned to face his friend, who also had a grin across his own.

"We must stop meeting like this," Micky cracked. "But, seriously; what're you doing here?"

"They canceled my flight—after it was already in the air," Davy explained. "So they had us land here in Oklahoma City. What about you?"

"I'm here to catch my connecting flight to Orlando," Micky said. But his smile faded from his face. "Uh-oh…"

"What?"

"If your flight got canceled, there's no way Peter's flight to Hartford is going to go anywhere… When I left him in Los Angeles, his flight was delayed."

Davy cringed.

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Well, I told him to get his ticket changed to a flight to Orlando and meet me there…" He gave a lopsided smile now. "Hey, you wanna come, too?"

"To Orlando?"

"Why not? Sure beats staying here, waiting for a miracle—if Peter's having so much trouble with a domestic flight, you're going to have it that much worse trying to find an international one."

"Your family won't mind?"

"I'm telling you the same thing I told Pete; you're pretty much part of the family—Mike, too. If you three hadn't been called home, I'd have invited you all to Florida anyway," Micky assured him.

Davy smiled.

"Well, I'd like to try getting to England if I can," he said. "But trying to get there from Orlando sounds a lot better than trying to get there from here. Count me in."

The grin returned to Micky's face as the two headed to the ticket counter. Davy quickly explained his situation, but the man at the counter gave him a look.

"The flight to Orlando has been canceled, I'm afraid…."

"Oh. Did you hear that, Davy? The flight's been—WHAT!?"

Davy's eyes widened in silent horror.

"I'm sorry," the ticket man said. "But the storm in the Midwest has gotten worse, the wind is from the north, so the storm is travelling south—and the free airspace is considerably lessened because of it."

"Yeah… yeah, I get it," Micky said. "We'll… we'll just find another flight to get there when the snow stops."

Now he, too, was in the same daze Davy was in as they walked away from the ticket counter, blank expressions on both of their faces.

"Well…" Davy said. "This is an odd development, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Micky sighed. "We… we just have to stay calm, and if we're patient, we'll hopefully find another flight to Orlando…" He trailed off, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh, no. _Peter_!"

"Why? What?" Davy asked, concerned.

"If Peter's flight to Hartford is canceled, he's going to try to go to Orlando—only we're not there! He might try to get a flight with a connection and get stuck somewhere like I am now!"

"What do we do!?"

"We've gotta tell him not to try traveling!" Micky said.

"How?!"

"Ummmm…" Micky looked around, his eyes falling on a pay phone on the wall. "That's how! Davy, ask the ticket guy for the number of the LA airport!"

Micky dug through his pockets for change as Davy got the number. Within minutes, Micky was on the phone to LAX, asking for Peter to be paged.

Davy looked on, crossing his fingers as Micky impatiently rocked back and forth on his heels, hoping that Peter would answer the page. But as Micky's face fell after nearly fifteen minutes without a response, he knew that Peter had to be on board a flight. With a sigh, he placed the phone back.

"Not there?" Davy asked. "What do we do?"

"I… don't know," Micky said, his head in his hands. "We're both stranded here in Oklahoma City, and now Peter is somewhere, probably about to be lost and stranded, and we don't even know where…"

Davy sighed, looking up at the ceiling in despair. This was far from the wonderful holiday that they all had been looking forward to.


	4. And I Don't Know if I'm Ever Coming Home

_Notes: For the record, "Riu Chiu" is, as far as I know, in the public domain. Thanks to everyone who followed this fic!_

* * *

For the next several minutes, Davy sat in one of the benches in the terminal, his chin propped on his hand as he watched Micky pacing back and forth, trying to find a solution to their problem.

"I've got it!" the brunet exclaimed, at last, causing the crowd of holiday travelers to stare at him as they jumped in fright.

Davy looked up.

"You have a plan?"

"Yeah, I think I do!" Micky said. "Okay. So, here's our problem: you and I are stranded here, right?"

"Right."

"And Peter is stranded somewhere, right?"

"Right."

"And we don't know where he is, and he doesn't know where we are, right?"

"Right."

"So there's only one thing to do," Micky declared, pulling a deerstalker out of his luggage and putting it on. "A little bit of detective work!"

Davy stared.

"And wearing a hat with ears will help you deduce where Peter is?" he asked, incredulously.

"What's good enough for Sherlock Holmes is good enough for me," Micky declared, pressing his fingertips together in the style of the Great Detective. "Come on, Davy! The game's afoot!"

"Just stay away from waterfalls," Davy mused, as he followed him back to the pay phones.

Micky was soon on the phone again, calling LAX and using up all of the change in his pockets as he instructed whoever was on the line to inform him of the flight schedules. The brunet's brow furrowed for a moment, and then his eyes widened. He thanked the person on the line and hung up.

"I know where Peter is! …Well, not exactly, but I know where he _will_ be in a few hours!"

"Where?"

"There's only one flight that left since the announcement that the flight to Hartford was canceled—a flight to Dallas, Texas!"

"Why would Peter go to Dallas, though?" Davy asked baffled.

"I'm not entirely sure, but knowing him, he probably figured that he'd get to Orlando step by step—and this was the first step," Micky said. "But, now we've got another problem to deal with."

"How to let Peter know where to find us, you mean?" Davy asked. "We don't even know where we're going."

"Oh, yes we do," Micky said. "We're going to Dallas."

"What!?" Davy exclaimed. "Wait a minute—we can't go to Dallas!"

"Oh, really? Give me one good reason why we can't!"

Davy pointed to the flight schedule.

"There aren't any flights from Oklahoma City to Dallas this late," he said.

Micky's face fell, but only for a moment.

"It's a long shot," he said. "But if we take a bus from here and grab another bus at the depot, we just might be able to make it to Dallas around the time Peter makes it there—we just have to hope that there's a holding pattern that keeps him up in the air long enough for us to get there—and if that doesn't work, then we have to hope for more delays to keep him at the airport." He hesitated. "And I guess we also have to hope that Peter really is on that flight, and that he didn't just give up and go home." He looked to Davy. "Hey, listen… I'd hate to be dragging you out on a wild goose chase; if you'd rather stay here and see if you could find a way to England—"

But Davy cut him off with a smile.

"Forget it, Micky; let's go find Peter."

Micky's face split into a grin.

"Come on; we're going to be cutting it really close as it is," he said, searching his pockets for more money for the bus fare. His face fell slightly as he found his pockets to be empty, having used up all of his change on the phone calls.

But Davy now reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

"Grandfather gave me a travel allowance," he said. "He told me to use it if I needed it. And I'd say this situation definitely qualifies."

"You said it!" Micky grinned, as he and Davy grabbed their bags and dashed through the terminal. The brunet adjusted the deerstalker on his head, ignoring the stares that his odd choice of headgear was receiving.

They were in a race against time, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Peter hadn't been too surprised when his flight to Hartford ended up cancelled, though it didn't stop him from being disappointed when it happened.

What he had been surprised by—an unpleasant surprise, at that—was the fact that the next flight out to Orlando had been cancelled, as well. He was given the same reason of the southward-moving storm and the subsequent shrinking storm-free airspace, which only made a shred of sense.

It was then that the blond weighed his options. Staying in Los Angeles, alone, was one of them, and it was not one he wanted to go with. There could have been the possibility of coordinating something with Micky, but he was who-knows-where at the moment—he couldn't have reached Orlando already…

Well, if he didn't want to spend Christmas here, alone, then there was only one thing to do, then—find the next flight out that would take him as far east as possible. From there, it was a matter of finding a way to either Orlando or Hartford—whichever path presented itself.

He let out a sigh as he picked up his luggage again, heading back to the ticket counter. At this point, he was willing to take whatever he could get.

He had managed to get a ticket, and had, of course, left only minutes before Micky had tried to have him paged from Oklahoma City. Blissfully unaware of his friend's attempts to contact him, he sunk back into his seat, hoping he would make it to either Hartford or Orlando before Christmas.

But sleep was not to come easy for the blond. The man in the seat next to him proceeded to gripe and complain about his earlier flight being cancelled and being forced to take such a late one. And Peter, too polite to ignore him or tell him to stop, patiently nodded along as the man ranted, wishing he could close his eyes for just a few minutes.

When the man had finally finished his rant, he proceeded to fall asleep immediately, snoring like a buzz saw. Peter just stared at him with a nonplussed expression, wondering what on earth he had done to deserve such a seatmate.

"Whatever it is, I'm sorry," he murmured, blinking with heavy eyelids.

Predictably, he did not get so much as a wink of sleep on the flight, leading him to wander off of the plane in a daze when they finally had landed.

In hindsight, as he wandered the terminal at DFW, Peter was beginning to think he had made the wrong choice. At least, if he had stayed in Los Angeles, he'd have been able to sleep in his own comfortable bed, as opposed to spending a sleepless night trying to make a seemingly impossible journey to the east coast.

There were no eastbound flights leaving DFW for the rest of the night—not to Orlando, not to Hartford, and not anywhere in that general direction.

He certainly didn't have enough money for a hotel; he hadn't been expecting such an aggravating turn of events. And as the hours ticked by, Peter was just about ready to pass out on one of the terminal benches and use his luggage as a pillow. Knowing that wasn't the wisest option around, however, Peter managed to drag himself and his luggage to the pay phone, digging out the slip of paper Micky had given him.

Unsteady on his weary feet, Peter held on to the wall after he dialed the number, waiting for Micky to pick up—by now, surely, Micky had reached his hotel. Peter knew there wouldn't be anything Micky could do for him, but, at this point, all Peter wanted was to hear a familiar, friendly voice.

He forced himself not to lean against the wall in disappointment as no one seemed to pick up the phone. Had he been so tired that he had dialed the number wrong? Or was Micky out somewhere, enjoying Florida's nice weather? Or was he sound asleep? Peter knew from experience that Micky was quite a heavy sleeper; the brunet could probably sleep through an alien invasion.

At last, Peter perked up, finally hearing Micky's voice.

"Hey, Mick…!" he said. "You have no idea how great it is to hear from you! I'm stuck here in Dallas!"

"Sorry it happened to you," Micky said. "This whole vacation thing just isn't working out for us…"

"You can say that again…" Peter said, shaking his head. "How's Orlando?"

"I wouldn't know. I never made it there."

"Oh." Sleep-deprived as he was, Peter had to process this thought for several moments before it sunk in. "But… if you're not there… how am I talking to you?"

Another voice—one with an English accent—answered in between chuckles.

"Just turn around, Peter."

Peter did so, and grinned to see Davy and Micky standing there.

"Ha! This is…! How did…?!"

"Just a little bit of detective work," Micky boasted. "Well, that… and managing to catch a quick-moving bus."

"We're glad we found you," Davy said. "We hated the thought of you wandering around somewhere, all alone."

"I wasn't too crazy about it myself," Peter said, smiling. "So, it looks like the three of us will be waiting here together for flights to open up, huh?"

"Yeah, guess so," Micky said, sighing. "I caught a look at the weather report in the newspaper, though; it doesn't seem like that blizzard in the Midwest is going to calm down anytime soon."

"Uh-oh…" Peter said, his face falling. "I don't like the sound of that. What do we do, then? Wait around here indefinitely until we can finally head east?"

Davy's eyes suddenly widened.

"No," he said, snapping his fingers. "I've got a better idea!"

* * *

Mike was _not_ happy. Being booted from his cozy berth had been the first of his problems. A talk with the station master revealed that the direct line that would've taken him from Los Angeles to Grapevine only had one train that night—the one he had just been thrown off.

This meant that Mike had to frequently change trains every hour to make sure that he was going in the right direction—which meant that he couldn't afford to fall asleep, lest he miss his stop and end up somewhere where he did not want to be. And, more than once, he had nodded off out of exhaustion, jerking awake in a panic as he thought he had missed his stop.

Fortunately, his miniature naps were not long enough to cause him to miss his stops, but it was more than tedious to lug his bags from one train to the next, breaking Olympic records as he tried to dash from one station platform to another to catch a connecting train that would leave within five minutes of his arrival. His most frightening moment was at two in the morning in Santa Fe, when he only just managed to catch his connecting train—while it was moving, ready to depart the station. Mike had pretty much thrown his luggage in before running parallel to the train for a moment and then leaping in after his bags, landing flat on his face on top of them.

"Wow," the conductor commented, as Mike faceplanted into his luggage. "That's like something right out of a movie. Well, except for you falling over like that; I bet James Bond could've landed on his feet."

Mike looked up at the man with a grimace that was, thankfully, hidden in the low lighting.

"Well, I ain't James Bond," he drawled.

Thankfully, that was the only crazy stunt that Mike had to pull that night; unfortunately, it was enough to make him sore for the remainder of the night, too. When he finally made it to Grapevine, he limped out onto the platform, reminding himself that his long and weary journey was still not yet over—he still had a bus to catch to New Gallifrey before he could crawl into bed and sleep.

Grumbling under his breath, he managed to catch a glimpse of the sky, blinking slightly as he saw the starry night—just like that night in Phoenix.

To his surprise, the corners of his mouth did twitch into a smile as his thoughts turned to his friends. Hopefully, they were reunited with their families, or were close to such a reunion. He would be very much looking forward to seeing them all again in a week. But first, a nice long rest in his old room at Aunt Kate's ranch was in order.

He sighed, calming down, and, unbidden, a familiar, seasonally-appropriate song came to his lips.

"_Riu riu chiu, la guarda rivera…_"

And then, as if by magic, three more voices joined him, harmonizing.

"…_Dios guardo el lobo de neustra cordera_… _Dios guardo el lobo de neustra cordera…_"

Mike whirled around, still singing as he beheld the sight of his three bandmates, all smiling broadly as they sang.

All questions and explanations waited until the song had finished (causing those around them to take a moment to applaud).

"Okay, this is a highly pleasant surprise and all," Mike said, folding his arms. "But what the heck are you guys doing here?"

"Big blizzard in the Midwest," Peter explained. "We all got stranded."

"Davy and I met by chance in Oklahoma City," Micky explained. "And we raced down to Dallas to find Peter before he got any more lost than he already was—helped by my brilliant skills of deduction, I might add…"

"And then I figured that since the storm is only going to get worse, that we'd have no way of getting east at all, and the fact that we were already in Texas, well…" Davy shrugged. "Here we are."

"You don't mind, I hope?" Peter asked.

"Not at all, Shotgun. Not at all. Ever since I dropped you three off at the airport, all I could think about was being able to see you guys again. And Aunt Kate always has extra seats open at the dinner table. Sorry your plans didn't quite work out, but I can't say that I'm not a little glad that it worked out this way."

"I know exactly what you mean," Davy said, as Micky and Peter nodded in agreement. Okay, England was out of the question this year. But there'd always be another time. And, really, if he couldn't spend the holidays with his family, this was more than acceptable as an alternative.

…Then again, in a way, this was just as much his family, too.

"Well," Mike said, his smile back on his lips for good. "We've got a bus to catch in order to head down to the ranch."

"Ah, buses and trains," Micky sighed. "Now _those _are reliable, stress-free ways to travel!"

Mike stopped in his tracks for a moment before picking up his pace again.

"Mick, we've gotta talk about that…"

And all through the bus ride to New Gallifrey, they swapped travel horror stories. It was Peter, though, who made the astute observation that, despite however horrible their journeys had been, in the end, they weren't all bad—after all, they had allowed them to find each other once again.

And that, they all agreed, made it all worthwhile.


End file.
